


Day 6, Nine Fifty-Three AM

by Topaz_Eyes



Category: 24
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Episode Related, Ficlet, Gen, Minor Character Death, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-18
Updated: 2007-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topaz_Eyes/pseuds/Topaz_Eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack faces his Gethsemane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 6, Nine Fifty-Three AM

It is quiet in the garden, and for that Jack is thankful. Though everything else is falling apart, the trunk of the tree is solid, so Jack leans on it, depending on its steadfast strength to anchor him when nothing else can. It is yet another bright and sunny morning, as it always is; though the foul tastes of bile and blood in his mouth stand in direct and garish contrast to the sweetness of freshly-mowed lawn. Jack is outwardly silent in his grief as his mind screams, pummeling him with his own despair.

He gives, and gives, and gives; he's sacrificed everything he has, including himself, but what has he ever received in return? Hollow words of thanks; and a litany of dead colleagues, friends and loved ones, constant companions that haunt his dreams and hover on the edge of wakefulness. He forever relives Teri's life ebbing even as he tried to hold her together in his arms. He will always feel Tony's last breath shuddering against his cheek; recall the faces of so many, too many to count, staring at him in their last seconds, boring into his skull.

Yet it's not enough that they were taken from him; now he does the taking himself, without a seeming second thought. At first it was Chappelle, begging him when his own hand failed. How could God forgive him that? Now it's Curtis, his hand desperately clutching at his throat as he slumps to the ground--the fading light in his anguished eyes forever beseeching Why?--who joins the cadre of ghosts in Jack's memory. As always, Jack chooses his allegiances and someone else near and dear to him pays.

_As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. World without end, Amen._

Through the haze, he hears Bill Buchanan's voice, distorted over the cell, trying to keep him going when all Jack wants is sanctuary. How can Bill hope to talk his way through this? Nothing is real anymore but this tree, the grass beneath his bruised knees, these memories swirling and flooding his brain and showering him with grief. It never stops, it never will stop, and he's tired, so goddamn tired, of fighting. Jack knows his body, his mind, his spirit are broken beyond repair. He hears himself admit at last, "I can't do this anymore," and though he no longer believes in God he prays that someone, somewhere might have the grace to listen to him.

The flash of light blinds him even through his closed lids, everything blanking white and hot. He clutches the tree and shies away, but he cannot avoid its brilliance—he reluctantly opens his eyes to the mushroom cloud pluming in the distance, only to watch himself dissolve and re-form in the rising spectre of ash. All previous sacrifices incinerate and blow away in the face of this horror. What is left, is as pure and hard as diamond. He rises shakily, wiping his face, acknowledging his due as the roar rushes to fill the vacuum. Jack binds himself together yet again, rebuilding from nothing, accepting who and what he is: he is needed in this darkest hour. Nothing else matters.


End file.
